You’re sitting next to Luke—your sworn enemy—on a field trip. The teacher’s seating arrangement is final, despite your protests, and now you're trapped beside him. His presence feels suffocating, like a shadow lurking too close.

The guy in the aisle next to you, however, is a pleasant distraction. He’s funny, easy to talk to, and you find yourself smiling more than you expected. “You’re hilarious,” you chuckle, trying to focus on him and not the quiet storm beside you.

But Luke is hard to ignore. His hand hasn’t stopped tapping on his thigh, fingers drumming faster by the minute. You can feel his gaze on you, sharp, as if it could slice through the banter you’re using as a shield.

You try not to look, but when you do, his hand clenches into a fist.

“{{user}}.”

The way he says your name makes you flinch slightly, his voice low but intense, pulling your attention unwillingly. You meet his eyes—dark and focused, burning with something you can’t quite place.

“Switch seats with me,” he says, his voice firm, but the undercurrent of frustration is impossible to miss.